Illusion
by Israfel.R
Summary: What if story to King For A Day: What if Santana never told anyone her secret? Transsexual!Santana. Suicide.


A/N: I wrote this in one hour waiting to see my counselor to change majors in college life, plus pretty depress about life and whatnot... So, this is a **what if** side one-shot story to **King For A Day!**

_ENJOY_

* * *

Being a Cheerio was the only thing that made everyone think I was a prefect girl. It made me popular with boys I knew I wouldn't be able to get if I was the real me, it made me strong with a reason to not seem like a dyke, and it gave me power over people that most females wouldn't have if thy were "normal". I gave that all up for Glee and now with passing days I am crumbling into myself realizing I cannot keep up with what I have done. I can't keep up with the illusion of the prefect female body anymore.

I know what you are thinking, why do I sound insane? I want to let you in on a deep secret not even my best friend knows. I'm not really a girl. Biologically I am but in mind and spirit I am not. The term is transsexual male and that Is what I am. I knew it for years but the fear of what people will do to me is scary. I can't do pretend anymore, being someone I'm not. It's slowly eating away at me as I push aside my true self so people will like me. That's why I push people away, I fear that once they know the real me they won't want to be my friend. And I know what you are thinking but the Santana you know is not me, just an illusion to keep others at bay.

I want to be proud that I am transgender! I want to be open like Kurt is open about being gay, I dream for it but is too scared to come out. I see what they do to him, how they shoved him out of the school. What would they do to me? Kill me? Probably. Transgender people have a higher murder rate than gays...

My mother is another reason why I would never come out. She's always on about how God hates gays and transgender people. How my kind is disgusting and deserves death for being wrong and sinful. Years of being taught this I believe her every word, knowing not to fight back. She always has these feeling that I am a horrible person, which is probably true. She used to send me to millions of therapist but I always just close up on them, making sure they don't know the real me. I know from experience that when the doctor says they won't tell my mother they are lying, they always lie.

My mother would have kicked me out of my home, yelling at me that I am a demon or something fucked up. I wish I could have parents like Kurt's, as I hear him praise his father all the time in the halls. I would kill for a family who is open minded and won't see me as a sick human being.

After I dropped the Cheerios, I was faced with the reality of how I am viewed. No one even likes this illusion I made. I am nowhere near a prefect girl. I was quite happy that day though, knowing people didn't see me like that. I tried opening up to Brit, but it was just so hard to as I moved from that to a more hurtful away to release my pain. It was an accident at first, I was just toying with the idea of cutting, but then when I did it all my pain was focus on that area on my arm. It made me feel good, better than picking a fight with that fat bitch.

I hid the scars though. I didn't want people to find out what I am now doing. I didn't want questions to why I was hurting myself. It would just lead to finding out about the real me. The real me that everyone will hate and push away. I didn't want that. The scars got deeper as I had to wear long shirts or sweaters. People gave me odd looks during the summer weather but I flipped them off as I try to walk with false confidence.

My mother got into my business to many times, wondering why I wore what I liked. I just shrug it off as nothing and lock myself in my room. She never liked people whim wore too much black, I mainly wore it since some scars would reopen and bleed, she would say people who wore black were devil worshipers. The whole Gothic scene was pure evil, probably the reason why I made fun of Tina, just so my mother can be proud of me. Not that she ever was, there was something always wrong with me.

When my mother wasn't around I would bind my chest and stuff my pants with socks. I pulled my weave off as I smile in happiness that I could be the boy I always felt. That I can look like the boy I am deep inside. When my mother came home, I would just go back into depression in hating myself as I pass mirrors, seeing a false me.

Before school started again, I had filled my legs with cuts. I didn't even try to rejoin the Cheerios like Quinn and Brit did. My friends urge me to join but I lied about not liking to cheer. I did like cheering. I just wanted a male uniform. Glee club never paid much attention to me, unless I acted up, but all I did was sit there and sang half halfheartedly. No one noticed though. I never asked for a solo, never preformed unless it was a group project, and I didn't even dance unless I was in the background. No one noticed though, not that I tried to be noticed. Britney stopped caring for me as she and Artie were undyingly happy. Puck had that fat bitch. Sam broke up with me because I never opened up. And that was it, I had no friends.

Why did I wait that long to see that? I had no friends, no one knew the real me, and there was no point to life if I had to pretend for the rest of my life that I am something I'm not?

Sitting in front of my mirror, I just glare at my body. The curse I am forced to be with. I don't want this anymore! I can't take it as it eats away from me!

Throwing my lamp at the mirror in pure rage, I shatter the image if myself crying. I run down the stairs to the kitchen as I take all the super strength pain killers and pills to help to fall asleep. I probably swallow over hundreds of pills with alcohol my father keeps in the house. Unlike popular belief I do not drink all the time, which makes me feel oozy combine with painkillers and sleeping pills.

Before I can make it all the way up stairs, I trip in a thundering headache as I pull myself up with the railing. I guess those pills are working then. Walking over glass, not feeling the sharp pieces of mirrors cut through my skin, I fall on my bed glaring at the pink walls. Making sure my chest is bind and my pants are packed, I place on a normal t-shirt to fall into my deep sleep. Smiling slightly as I stare at the cuts on my arm, but tracing the words I forced to those who see it know the real me.

_I'm a boy_


End file.
